Breathe With Me
by brttny98
Summary: Tony doesn't understand what's happening to himself, but Steve does. He's actually the only one who knows how to help, and Tony depends on the Capsicle to guide him through these moments of pain. [Story written for kittkattomnomnom on tumblr]


Stony Fluff for my tumblr friend kittkattomnomnom

UA (original universe with minor alterations: Pepper and Tony are best friends, no romantic connections)

Also, if this gets anyone's attention, I may be willing to write another chapter with some smut in it. Wink. Just let me know what you think, and if you'd like some more Stony.

/

Steve Rogers was not only a super human; he was a super intelligent human. Steve had always been a rather smart young man, however with the added effects of his super-serum as well as waking up in a new century with unlimited information to uncover – Steve practically had the intelligence of a modern scientist. It was because of this that Steve figured out the truth long before anyone else did.

/

Tony Stark would joke about his own mortality; call himself a man in a can with no real anger at the thought. After all, he had made himself that 'can' in order to fly himself around the world. He saved hundreds and thousands of lives just because of that little can's creation.

Tony Stark had no real problems with dying and would accept it as his time, when it came – if only to protect the innocent and the weak. Pepper Potts certainly knew this; her best friend was a selfless bastard and she was afraid he would get himself irrevocably injured through his desire to save, to protect, to defend.

Tony knew that he was not the most qualified for the job – he may have done things in his early life without a thought on morals, but Tony was good. A hero. He understood that being strong, being a protector of the weak comes with its dangers; he could handle the fame (he loved it, really); he understood that extra security was necessary; and also that his business depended on his sole role as Iron Man – and he could handle all of that, all of the responsibilities that comes with heroism and fame. But there was one thing he couldn't handle.

The nightmares.

The memories of the battle at New York and Stark Tower and the Portal literally haunted him every time he closed his eyes. Once he was fast asleep, the dreams would have him scrambling in his sheets, clutching at his chest, trying to _breathe_, but being unable to.

He didn't understand the reason why he would lose his ability to properly take in air when he was faced with a reminder to the whole ordeal. Men attacking him – flashbacks of the battle of New York – that last call to his girl, his Pepper – falling through an open portal – gazing at black sky and red flames – they would all be brought to the surface and he would choke on his own throat, vision going white and speckled at the edges.

These ordeals would begin and end with Tony on the floor of the bathroom. Tony would run into the empty room only to collapse onto the floor in a gasping, sobbing heap – still unable to fill his lungs with much needed oxygen, and most often losing consciousness because the terror would be too much for him to handle. The nightmares had him sitting alone in the dark, terrified, legs tangled and trapped in the blankets of his bed, holding a pillow to his chest as tears slid silently down his cheeks. He didn't sleep much, after the first few nightmares – in order to avoid the terror that racked his whole body.

Tony Stark didn't understand. He didn't understand why this was happening and dammit – he was scared and alone and hurt and tired and exhausted and he did _not_ want to close his eyes because then he'd _see _them again and again and again and again and –

And this is how Tony Stark, the man who announced on live television that he was indeed Iron Man, spent the nights and days after the Chitauri invasion in New York City.

/

It didn't take long for a certain blonde to realize what Tony did not. The fact that even the smallest hint towards the catastrophe in New York had sent Tony turning pale and white as death, and fleeing as fast as humanly possible that really triggered Steve's worry. When Tony had recovered from his wounds after the battle, his body under his control again after the event, and had completed treatment for his major injuries, as well as less… extreme pain-relieving pain relievers flooding his small and haggard body, Steve began questioning the man's health not even three weeks after everything was concluded.

And after researching this strange behavior (once he had been taught how to use Tony's internet and computer pad, he was pretty adept at navigating anything technological; so long as he was showed exactly how it functioned, he could handle it) he realized what was ailing his friend.

Post-traumatic stress disorder. Tony literally fit into the qualifications to the point where Steve was about ready to burst into Tony's room and hug him to his chest.

Though that was not the way this situation needed to be approached, and he (with much self-convincing) managed to get himself under control and think about the logical approach – the approach that would make Tony healthy again.

/

"Hey Cap. How's it hangin?" Tony's voice practically echoed through the open living space (since the day the Chitauri attacked, Stark Tower had been reconstructed and repaired of all damages). And though his voice was excitable and as cheery as he remembered – Tony's eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep, and he looked as if he were an inch away from launching himself off the open balcony. However bad Tony looked, Steve wanted to keep up the charade that he knew Tony was using, and threw him a lazy smile.

"I don't understand what that implies, but I imagine you are asking me how I am feeling?" Tony laughed, throwing his head back.

"You know damn well what I meant, Cap." Tony sniggered under his breathe towards Steve, and made his way to the kitchen.

Steve hoped he would eat something, but his smile turned into the pursing of his lips as Tony made another cup of coffee – it seemed to be the only thing he consumed lately and it was not only unhealthy, but worrisome as well.

The day went by as well as it could have, with no real issues except the fact that Pepper stopped by, with narrowed eyes and an entirely confusing remark about how Steve shouldn't expect more than twelve percent of anything Tony offered him, and then promptly left – leaving him sitting there dumbfounded, and Tony's mouth hanging open and gaping at the wake Pepper left behind her.

It wasn't until that night, when the channel was being changed that the News was flipped on for just a hair under ten seconds, when it happened.

Those ten seconds felt like an eternity to Tony, because he literally watched as Iron Man took down enemies, slicing them down, killing, maiming, destroying, burning, tearing – and he couldn't breathe again and he ran from the couch and ran to the bathroom and tried to get his lungs to work and he tried to use his lungs to get his lungs to work – his lungs aren't working why aren't they working? Why can't he breathe why can't he see why is this happening someone please help him help him _help him._

_/_

Steve saw this all as it happened, he felt Tony's breathing escalate and rise beyond the ability of a human body's functioning capabilities – hyperventilating because of that short clip as the channel was being changed. Tony's body lurched off the couch with so much force, his body stumbled a few steps and struggled to regain equilibrium before attempting to haul itself into a safe place – away from the danger, away, away and safe – and Steve knew that he could not ignore the facts, he couldn't and he wouldn't and he would help this man if it killed him.

So he followed him, and kept his distance until Tony had found the area he wanted to be safe in.

/

The bathroom lights were on, but Tony was unable to see anything other than the faces of the Chitauri, of his friends being hurt, of of of of – he felt warmth on his shoulders that felt like…hands? _Oh god, hands, hands that will kill me choke me rip me apart need to flee need to escape to fight? Fight for myself fight? No no no no let go let go let go let go –_

A voice broke through the fog in Tony's mind and he struggled to get away to fight against the hold on his shoulders (he was certain, now, they were holding him down, pinning him) but the voice was steady and it was nice and soft and it didn't sound evil or grunting or grating or – blood bleeding pain bones slice cut blood bleeding bloodbloodblood –

And the voice broke through again but this time he could hear it? Could he hear it? And he tried to listen because it was so nice and not bloody like his memories and not blue and not dying –

"Tony, breathe with me," the voice breathed into his ear and Tony then realized he could feel himself being held tightly to a warm chest – human warm safe not enemy friend? – and the voice kept breathing (no, the body that was holding his own was breathing) and Tony tried mimicking the body's actions, tried to breathe as it breathed, slowly, peacefully, not hurting or choking, no gasping or sobbing.

"Very good," the voice soothed, a hand stroking the back of Tony's neck – and then Tony managed to take one deep breathe in – "Slowly, Tony, breathe as I do," – and did what the voice and body told him, showed him.

Breathe slowly, in and out.

Sob hard.

Whimper.

He did those, too, though he knew the voice never said anything about that –

"You can cry, Tony, you'll feel better once you do."

And well then if the voice said it was okay then it was okay –

And he cried and cried and sobbed and breathed and breathed in and out in and out in and out in and out –

And then after a long, long amount of time, he blinked open his eyes and realized, hell, - the voice was right.

/

The sight that he was a witness to, had he not seen worse during the War, would have shaken him. A strong man, a man as strong as Tony Stark, reduced to this – it was painful. And unimaginable - except that there was no imagination needed in order to see that which is in front of the eyes. Steve thinks that maybe close to an hour, give or take ten minutes, passed before Tony calmed down enough to breathe in and out steadily – and proper lung behavior fully restored.

Still, throughout that time, Steve had kneeled before Tony, pulling him to his chest and wrapping him in a tight (but not too tight, as hyperventilation as well as asphyxiation would have killed the brunette) compact hug, and talked him 'off the ledge,' so to speak. And as far as Steve was concerned – he did his job, because he felt hands taking grip of his button up shirt, crinkling it in their white knuckles as a forehead came to rest on the side of his neck. He felt as Tony's tears made streaks on Steve's skin, and soaked through his shirt. He felt each intake of breathe, and made sure it regulated and matched the slow pace he was using.

Tony eventually was calm. It was perhaps the presence of another body, warm, safe, and soothing that brought him back to lucidity. Steve felt it when Tony was in control of himself again – something about the way the man held himself.

"Er…" Tony cleared his throat, Steve's arms still around him, holding him close.

"You don't need to say anything, Tony. I understand." Steve's voice was very calm, and as Steve's large hand rubbed steadily over Tony's back, the man couldn't help but feel his eyes drifting closed, his exhaustion finally taking over him. With Steve's warm breathe on his ear, warmth encompassing him, Tony fell asleep.

/

Neither one of the men mentioned anything the next day.

Steve continued to sip at his morning coffee as he read the newspaper, and Tony (as he stumbled out of his room wondering if Steve had tucked him into his bed after..._it_ happened) ate some of the blueberries he was so in love with.

Steve didn't want to trigger Tony into another attack, though in retrospect he felt that he probably should have slowly eased to a discussion about what was bothering Tony and further avoided any more attacks (because they obviously would continue – things like this didn't just go away overnight).

Tony didn't mention anything because he was embarrassed, and did not want to remind himself on his lack of control and his complete break-down. Tony Stark is Iron Man, for God's sakes. He did not need this kind of thing sitting on his plate.

So he ignored it.

It was becoming easier and easier for Tony to pretend that nothing was wrong – he ignored anything involving New York; he made Jarvis make sure no Shield agents contacted him for information regarding the events of New York, events involving clean up or recovery, anything involving press conferences he had forwarded to Happy and Pepper – and built himself a little cave of ignorance. And he liked it that way.

Steve could see the unhealthiness in this method of managing his anxiety, but did not want to rub salt in the wound and so continued with his worrying from a safe distance away.

Which lead them to Tony's next break-down.

Natasha and Clint had been discussing their role in the battle, and which techniques they used for fighting against the Chitauri. Natasha was telling Clint about how Steve had launched her into the air – and how exhilarating it had been, when Tony walked in the room. Natasha liked Tony – liked his snarky-ness and his taste in music – so she wanted to tell him about it.

"Hey Tony, we were just talking about some of the things we had to do in New York, and when Loki had been flying around on one of those jet-ski things. Steve had to throw me into the air – about fifty feet straight up – and toss me onto one of those."

"She totally hitched a ride while soaring through the air." Clint's eyes crinkled at the image of Tasha somersaulting straight up into the sky, knocking out aliens and commandeering an alien vessel.

"Yeah, those Chitauri were pretty intense." Natasha leaned back onto her hands, contemplating over the strategies used during the battle. Clint, on the other hand, began to ask Tony which methods of attack he had used – before Tony tucked tail and fled the room. Neither Natasha nor Clint commented on it, other than the snide remark of 'diarrhea hits ya real fast, don't it, Tasha,' their laughter filling the room.

/

Ripping tearing screaming pain blood Pepper? _Pepper answer the phone goodbye _afraid falling blood dying blood blood darkness can't breathe can'tbreathe can't I can't I can't –

Unseeing eyes filled with tears gazed up into the ceiling, Tony lying there shaking, hands holding his throat, trying to breathe – but being unable to. His neck felt as if it were rejecting air, rejecting it and collapsing in on itself. A low moan made its way out of his mouth, lips parted and still searching for air – _someone please help me oh God nonononono –_

And so Steve found him, again, in much the same way as before – an almost unrecognizable fetal human being lying on the carpet of Tony's bedroom. The sound of choked and pained sobs filled the room, and Steve felt his heart break, quickly running to Tony's side. He scooped him into a tight hug, pressing the quivering body into his chest and spoke to him in a low voice, trying to ease the man out of his mental shell – a shell that was literally collapsing in on itself, leaving him nothing but anguish in its wake.

_Voice calm soft? Hands rubbing back, not hurting, soft – scared? No, softwarmcalmbreatheinbreatheout – not scared, safe? Safe safe safe stay warmth please afraid –_

And Steve stayed, he spoke to Tony in a low voice that made it difficult for Tony to not follow his directions – to inhale and exhale in perfect time with Steve's breathes, to relax, to calm himself, to just _breathe._

When Tony was done with his attack, he tried murmuring a few words before being shushed by Steve. "Just sleep, Tony. You need to sleep," he told him, and so Tony obeyed.

/

Tony woke the next day having felt relieved – almost as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. It seemed to have something to do with Steve helping him fall asleep, instead of Tony passing into unconsciousness from lack of oxygen (which is typically how he ended up sleeping most of the time).

Tony just didn't sleep anymore, because of the nightmares. But when Steve soothed his fears, it was as if he were a dose of sleep medication, knocking him out and giving him the greatest sleep of his entire life. But he did not want to bring it up to the tall blonde superhero – no, he'd be damned before he admitted to such a weakness (_two times this happened? No way in Hell) _and basically did exactly the same thing as he had been doing up until this moment.

Steve saw it – again – and watched, and waited, patiently for Tony to lose himself - again. Though he would rather Tony just admit to the fact that he needed help, he couldn't just walk up to Tony and demand his acquiescence in spilling his darkest fears out to a man that (as far as Steve knew) he still hated – so no, Steve allowed it to happen, reluctantly but patiently all the same.

/

The third time it happened was the worst. It hit Tony like an air craft carrier had fallen out of the sky and landed on his lungs. Landed on his lungs and destroyed them, broke his body into a million pieces and lit them on fire. His body was aflame, but cold, and he shivered with sweat coating his entire body because of the chills caused by the mixed temperatures.

Agent Phil Coulson had stopped by, overriding all security procedures, against all of Tony's regulations and Jarvis' voiced concerns. Tony had been in the shower, and did not know of the man's presence until he walked out into the main living area, hair still dripping, and unintentionally walked into the minefield of horrors.

Photographs of injuries of passing civilians, of dead Chitauri scattered across the streets of New York. There were photographs of the Avengers in the middle of battle, in the middle of everything – as they bled, sweat and fought for not only their own lives, but for the lives of all those on planet Earth. Phil was explaining what had happened after the Avengers had left the scene, how the Shield agents managed to clear up all of chaos and broken mess of building and the dead – it was basically nothing more than a progress report.

This time, however, Tony's attack came on violently and all of the people sitting around the living room, lounging on the couch – Bruce, Pepper, Clint, Natasha, Phil and Steve – they all saw as Tony lost himself in the depth of his mind.

He collapsed onto his knees, his sweat pants muffling the _clunk_ as his weight hit the ground and they heard the gut wrenching sound of Tony being unable to take in a breathe – the sound of a man literally choking on fear.

Phil knew right away what this was, and felt as if this were his fault – Steve could see it in the way his eyebrows creased down. But this was something more than that – just another trigger that set Tony off, sent him spiraling out of control, and it was nothing that Phil could have predicted – no one could have predicted that Tony Stark, the man who had more demons than many, would be haunted by the New York incident.

"I think you all need to clear out of here, and take all of this with you." Steve's voice was clear and it was obviously a command, and not a suggestion.

"But I can't just leave Tony –" Pepper cried out, tears already streaming down her face as she watched Tony clutching his neck in fear and panic. Natasha reached out and held Pepper's arm, tugging her back.

"Pepper, I don't think it would be wise to be near Tony when you are this upset. It would make things worse," her voice was soft and kind, and Pepper let out a cry, but allowed Tasha to pull her away, away from her friend, her closest friend, her Tony – and let him struggle against unseen enemies.

"Do you need any –" Natasha's voice was quiet, and was almost hesitant in its suggestion. Steve understood that they all saw Tony as a friend (after he took the missile into the Portal, it was hard not to see Tony as anything less than a hero, a friend), but Steve shook his head at them all.

"I know how to deal with this – just please remove all evidence that this –" he gestured to the photographs littered across the room – "happened." And they did. They obeyed Steve, and they left, all together – for Tony.

Steve, after they cleared the room, made his way to the shell of a man he thought he knew. He was on his knees now, hunched over and rocking his body forward and back, hands wrapped around his body, flushed and pained and covered in sweat.

_Pain blood blood Chitauri Portal – falling falling Pepper? Deaddeaddead – falling – eyes closed no more living blood blood pain hurts hurts hurts no no no please no not yet – don't want to die – help me help me ow ow ow no no no no can't breathe can't breathe lungs won't work why aren't they working no air left no air left no air –_

And then there was warmth, and a hard wall of heat and it exuded safety and love and kindness to the point that Tony didn't even really notice as it happened, but his body recognized it, and it lunged almost painfully into the grasp, and the body, that wall of heat, clutched Tony as well, soothing away the fears, easing away the pain of the memories, of the torment his mind was being overridden by.

And Tony didn't stop crying into the strong broad shoulders, he just kept sobbing, gasping, chest heaving and voice cracking, letting out pained cries that ended up choked, like whimpers on the verge of becoming moans, of becoming shouts and screams.

Tony's anxiety attack, or panic attack – it must have been a combination of everything with the way that he was lying, fetal, in Steve's arms – was the worst the man had ever experienced. Tony was struggling for each breathe and even though Steve was soothing him the way he had been soothing him the past few attacks, it was not working this time.

"Tony, I need you to take a deep breathe with me. I need you to do that. Can you do that, Tony? Breathe with me." Steve ordered, his voice strong but soft. His hand kneaded the back of Tony's neck, forcing the man to acknowledge his question.

It was not an obvious acquiescence, but the shudder that rippled through Tony's body could be nothing except a mock-nod, and a heaving wet breathe filled the room as Tony tried to fight his body against its betrayal.

"That's it, Tony, now do it again. Like me. Everything is okay, you're okay, you are alive," Steve continued to murmur into Tony's ear these reassurances, over and over, softly and with strength behind the words. "Everyone is alive, we are all safe, Tony. Everyone has been saved. You did great in New York – you saved everyone, Tony."

Tony whimpered into the crease of Steve's shirt, head resting against his clavicle, rubbing and pressing into the warm chest to fight away the images behind his eyelids, to get them out of his eyes and out of his head, to make his breathing follow the slow and confident patterns of the body holding onto him, steadying him to the ground and righting the world again.

Tony cried into the arms of Steve, and there was nothing that Steve could do except hold the shaking, quivering body to his chest, rocking him slowly, and continue murmuring in his ear any kind of reassurance he could.

Time passed, and as it did, Steve grew more and more uncomfortable kneeling on the floor. As Tony hadn't quite calmed down (he was still crying into Steve's chest, though with less pained noises escaping his mouth), Steve decided to pick up his docile body – though he tensed as he felt the ground lift out from under him – and carry him into his bedroom, onto the large bed in the center of the room. Steve murmured into Tony's ear all the while.

Steve lay there with Tony curled against his side as his tears slowed, waiting for the man to recover from the attack. Eventually he stopped altogether, though it was slow and heartbreaking to watch. He held him even as the tears left his shirt cold and his skin salty. And when Tony had finally, finally stopped crying, stopped heaving for breathe, when his tears had left salty tracks on not only his cheeks, but Steve's chest and neck and shirt – when he was finally calm, Steve just continued to soothe him.

Tony was about to pull away from the intimacy of their embrace, but Steve put a hand to his cheek, thumbing away the marks of tears.

"You need to stay here, and get some sleep," he told Tony. A puff of air escaped the man and though his face was flushed from the crying, Steve could tell he was blushing out of embarrassment.

"Y –" Tony coughed, his voice rough from misuse. His nose was clogged from crying so hard, and he couldn't breathe from it. Steve handed him tissues (he had a thing for carrying a small pack of Kleenex wherever he went, Tony had said it was because that's was old people do) and blew his nose, then cleared his throat again and again before he continued, "you don't need to stay here. I don't deserve…" he took a deep breathe in, though the inhale was quivering on its entrance to Tony's lungs.

"Don't say that, Tony." Steve said quietly. He continued to stroke the lower back of the man – his right arm wrapped under Tony's body, pinned underneath his solid weight – and the hand stroking away tears moved to cradle Tony's head to his chest once more.

The hours passed this way, in this warm embrace. There was no fear in Tony, only calmness, peace, and safety. He nuzzled into Steve's chest only a few minutes after his attempt at making Steve leave. But Steve wouldn't have budged no matter what – he had learned his lesson, and there was no way he was going to sit back and watch as Tony drove himself off the cliff-side of sanity yet again.

By the time the sun rose, Tony was nestled into the bed with Steve, completely at ease and was drifting into a light doze.

Before he fell too deeply into unconsciousness – the good kind, the kind the body needs the most – he felt Steve's lips on his forehead.

"Next time that this happens, I need you to come to me for help." His voice was that commanding tone again – soft but hard, soothing yet fierce.

Tony murmured and 'mmph' in agreement before his lips curled up, a minuscule smile at the face of death and pain. Steve kissed Tony's temple this time, and told him to sleep. He ran his hand through his thick dark hair, and thought that perhaps, just this once after all this time, that Tony would be okay and would move on from this and never experience an anxiety attack again – no more nightmares – nothing.

But Steve knew he was being illogical, and that Tony's recovery would take much more careful prodding and aiding than tonight. It would be an extensive experience, and thoroughly exhausting for the two of them. But as long as Tony recognized when he was about to crack – it would be a stepping point for his rehabilitation.

Tony Stark understood that being a hero meant rescuing the ones in danger, and aiding those that are too weak to fight for themselves. But what Tony didn't understand was that, sometimes, it was the hero that needed to be rescued. And Steve Rogers would make sure that Tony knew this for himself.


End file.
